Void, Dust and a Potions Master
by Shirome
Summary: Story rewritten. Just a usual year in Hogwarts, set during GoF. Rated T for violence in later chapters. No romance, no slash, some OC.
1. Foreboding Nights

**Void, Dust and a Potions Master**

Dedicated to a good friend Sven Crofton

Disclaimer: All of the Harry Potter characters belong to J.K.Rowling. Not made for profit, made for fun (or whatever)

**Chapter one - Nights of being foreboding**

Collecting Herbs in the Darkest of Woods

The Harbinger, Judith Hemice and Severus Snape

Bad Moon Rising

Another school year was starting. Holidays flew over like a dream. He spent most of his free time closed off from the world in various rooms of the dungeon. His room, his office, his study-room, his laboratory, his personal library. His. Everything in here was familiar and off limits to everyone. It was a very reassuring feeling. While he was sitting behind an oak writing table, in front of an enchanted embrasure, which was showing the cloudy sky of outside world, Severus felt very safe. The problems of wizarding part of society were suddenly so far away, they weren't more than a delirious delusion. Stacks of old books, kettle of coffee. Lives of yesteryear's scholars, portrayed on paper or parchment.

But nothing is perpetual. His usually blank expression was replaced by a sullen one. He disliked the children, not understanding them. The only reason why he was here was an old promise from the time when someone abused his youthful stupidity. It was binding him to this place. Well, it wasn't like he had any warm home to return to, just an old, abandoned house. Those wretched little humans. Their age was absolutely no excuse. Each one of them could be a pillar to form the stability of the world. Could be. The only barriers were their empty heads.

Stability. That was one of his drives why to bother fighting, back then in the old days when he wore ivory mask and his mark shone like liquid obsidian, flowing under his skin. He didn't care, who will win, as long as someone actually would. It made very little difference to his world.

Grading the new batch of essays he collected just today, his gaze suddenly fell on the calendar. It was the eight of September. Half past nine in the evening. Already? Has he been here for such a long time? Dinner time was gone ages ago. If he would hurry up a bit, he could still make it in time. After all, today was one of the very special days in Forbidden Forest. The day of Lada and Lad, an ancient god-couple. It wasn't as powerful as the Midsummer or Midwinter's night, but still, herbs collected today had a higher energy level than normally.

He put a cloak on. Grey - not black. The wand was replaced by a bronze sickle. Creatures deep in the Forest were usually quite ill-disposed towards all wizards. And you can tell a wizard by his wand. As Severus wanted to keep his head, innards and various limbs a bit longer, he put his normal Potions-master attire aside.

The air was slightly cooler and evening dew started to form on the vivid-green blades of grass. It stained his garb and feet in sandals. No one seemed to notice when he crossed the threshold of the first trees. He could smell a distant fire; maybe even hear rhythmical pounding, if it wasn't his own heart.

First he discovered angelica, growing in the ash and maple part of the forest. This had to be his lucky day – an especially powerful angelica. The draught of its seeds and roots was antispasmodic, used to treat hysteria, epilepsy, insomnia and of course the aftermaths of a cruciatus curse. Carefully he dug one plant after another and bound them together with long strands of grass. Next was catnip, with its effects similar to those of angelica. Severus almost snickered imagining what would happen if he was to put a toy-mouse stuffed with catnip in Minerva's office.

A fog started to rise from the trees, enveloping everything. Luckily he made trips to the forest quite often, so his sense of orientation didn't depend on sight anymore. Without a hurry he tied the last bunch of catnip together and went deeper in among the trees, only to find himself in a place unknown. This was rather puzzling. Someone had to have a hand in the game, for he would never get lost this near the school. He kept on walking. There was nothing else to do aside from sitting down and waiting for a miracle.

The woodland in here was much more open. Instead of dense oaks with twisted branches, dead and dried-up spruces protruded from the ground, overgrown with bunches of yellowish grey grass. Mist was still here and nothing seemed to be alive. No birds, insects, animals. Only great black boulders, moist with dew, covered in moss. He went on, placing his feet carefully on the grass-turfs. Many of the trees lay decaying on the ground, their broken branches sharp enough to penetrate skin and muscle. It was cold in here as well. Too cold for this time of year, even though night was approaching. The stench of rotting leaves and dead animals hung in the air, even though there weren't any around. Sky was an unmoving scene of heavy and foreboding dark clouds. They weren't swelled with life-bringing rain, but with a sterile nothingness.

As he passed a small bog-lake, the odour of decay got especially pungent. There was a dead body, bloated and grey, floating on the water. A young girl, Severus noticed vaguely. Nothing really to get upset about. He saw many corpses in his younger days. Everything that's alive will eventually turn into this, including himself. He got more excited when discovering a narrow dusty pathway. He laid a foot on it, the surface didn't seem right. This only supported his growing belief that this place is either another world or in his mind.

The first noise not made by him, made Severus naturally jump. It was his life-long dislike – sudden noises, especially those behind his back. Loud cracking of a branch, few tens of meters away, the source hidden in the fog. Severus didn't speed up, nor did he stop, although admittedly he was unsettled. Even more so, when a new sound appeared in the same direction. It was a damped thumping of big hooves getting nearer and nearer. Feeling his heart beat, Severus slouched his head so the curtain of the lanky hair, matted even more by the omnipresent dampness, fell around his face. It made him feel slightly calmer. When the horse was so near he could feel the ground vibrate, it suddenly stopped and moved to his side. A monstrous disfigured steed, the bones coated with pale hair. Its belly was as bloated as the corpse's and ugly bald patches stretched over it, making him shudder. And there was a foot of a rider, bony, with many steel anklets. Severus stopped.

"Good evening, sir." He said in a well-behaved way, bowing his head slightly. If he was going to be killed, then not because of lack of manners.

"Good evening to you, pilgrim." Answered a whispering, hoarse voice. The rider dismounted.

Severus was pretty tall and still this man surmounted him by at least three heads. In many ways they seemed similar - gaunt and pallid, with an air of dead-stillness around them. The rider had dark, murky-green eyes, like the strange moss covering those boulders. His hair was very long and frizzy, charcoal in colour, with many thin braids, falling over simple linen garb. All over his body, there were symbols of an eye, either drawn on his forehead, or as jewellery.

For some time they walked in silence, so Severus deduced he was supposed to start first. Fine by him.

"Do you have, maybe, an explanation of why am I here? I do not believe I got here on my own."

"I am sorry. I was crossing the spaces and one of the portals must've escaped. I am Awame, the harbinger. I go from place to place to make records of unfortunate events. What is your name, pilgrim?"

"My name is Severus Snape. I am a Potions teacher at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have a common destination, don't we?"

"Yes. You are right, professor Severus Snape. Once again, you shall witness suffering and death. Do you still care? …Oh I apologize. I was already watching you some time ago and I know that you never cared anyway."

Severus made many next steps in a silence. Although theoretically this path should lead deeper and deeper in the forest, he was sure they'd end up right in front of the school.

"It's not like I can change anything, so why should I bother. What for was this quasi-world created anyway. You can move as fast as you wish, without the need for any transit worlds."

"Every creature, no matter how cold the heart, has a desire to create something, from time to time. I didn't make this place. You stepped in a stray cloud of conception. It was shaped after you. Naturally an entity such as myself is attracted to such landscape."

"I see."

The dusty track under their feet graded slowly into a floor made out of big blocks of basalt. Dead grass was sprouting in the gaps. The hooves were making a dull noise, which wasn't carried anywhere. Once finding out that this place was his, Severus knew which memories it was shaped after. Only one was escaping his grasp.

"Do you know who the corpse in the lake was?"

"Hm…let me see." Awame took out a thesaurus-thick notebook and shuffled through the delicate pages.

"Oh yes. This girl's name was Judith Hemice. Poisoned by her own father for not being suitable for dark arts, via your potion. Remember now?"

"Ah yes. Hemice Judith, third-year Slytherin when she died."

"Her soul is enraged. It wants revenge. It wants to kill, but can't enter the world of living. It's forever trapped in this purgatory."

"Well, I can't do anything about it."

"Actually you can. She wants blood. Give her blood. Then she'll be able to get a real body. The decision is your."

Severus felt curiosity rising in his chest. As if it felt his decision, the bog with the corpse appeared by his side again. Severus, Awame and the horse all stopped. The potions-master took out his sickle, exposed his wrist and slit it with four neat cuts. Holding it over the corpse, a trickle of blood poured on the body and in the water. When it came in contact with ghastly skin, boils appeared and smoke of a repulsive smell rose.

"How long?" asked Severus after a while, feeling a bit light-headed.

"When it's satisfied, it will stop your bleeding."

Moments passed, seeming long and short in the same time. The dead body almost completely melted, leaving a layer of mucus swimming on the surface. Suddenly it shot up, right into the gashes, culminating through the veins through his body. Severus fell on his knees, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. Resentment of brothers. Fathers hate for being incompetent. Mother's hurt and accusing eyes, for she thought her daughter's failure as her own. The feeling of frustration and helplessness, when classmates bullied her. The reptile-cold, unfeeling stare of her housemaster, telling her it's absolutely unimportant for the world, whether she lives or dies.

A strong hand clutched his shoulder and put him back on his feet again. Severus blinked. He felt stinging in his palms. Holding them in front of his face, there were marks of fingernails dug in the flesh. Slowly his pulse began to drop again.

"Are you well, professor Severus Snape?" Awame asked. "Or do you want to use my horse."

"No, thank-you. I am alright."

He stood up. His legs were a bit like jelly, but that was about it. A thick white bandage covered the wounds on his wrist. It was from his first aid kit, which he carried on every trip. Gazing at the pool, the mucus was all gone, leaving an oily stain on the water. A big black cat stood on the bank. It had uneven eyes. One green and one yellow.

"She shall go with you now, to wait for an opportunity."

The cat climbed up on his shoulder.

Then the dreamscape dissolved into thin air and they were standing by the castle, just like Severus predicted.

"I am going as well, to watch the events unfold, unseen. I wish you luck, professor Severus Snape."

"Thank-you and farewell."

Awame vanished and Severus, carrying Judith on his shoulder, returned to the castle. The great clock was showing ten minutes past midnight and the school wasn't still at all. Judith jumped down and disappeared in the shadows as Severus descended to the dungeons to drink some blood replenishing potions.


	2. Strolling Around

_**Chapter 2 - Nights of strolling around**_

A Game with Minerva, a Chat With Moody 

Late Hours of Children

Translations, Ciphers, Potions and Maladies 

Disclaimer: Don't own anything

October started few days ago when the students finally stopped chatting about that annoying waste of time for empty skulls called Quidditch. Severus sat one particularly sunny Saturday in Minerva's office. Well, it was sunny during the day. Now, as the evening approached peacefully, dark storm-clouds drifted from east. The sun shone through them, painting their edges an engrossing shade of violet. Severus jerked as Minerva placed a cup of coffee in front of him with a clinking sound. She did not apologize, for she knew that her younger colleague hated empty words. After all, she wasn't sorry.

"Is the sky troubling you?" she asked with a slight smile, discreetly drawing his attention back to the room. It was his turn. After a while he moved with a pawn, just to make way for the bishop.

"Not at all….you do enjoy opera, don't you." He stated, gesturing to an old-fashioned gramophone. Wagner's Ring was just playing.

"Yes. Very much so. After all, it's decorum of an old-fashioned elderly lady. To listen to opera, drink coffee, play chess and solitaire, well, I can be my own cat…"

"Elderly? You're not that…" he paused, avoiding her amused look.

"Yes, elderly. After all, I'm on the wrong side of seventy."

"Ah, thank you for reminding me. There was no real opportunity, so I'm giving it to you later. Happy birthday." He took a little box wrapped in tartan paper out of his pocket and placed it in front of her. She took it, smiling rather happily.

"Ta." She unwrapped the paper and opened it, smirking.

"Sorry, I didn't know what else to give you."

It was a snow-white handkerchief with fine Brussels lace, embroidered with ornate thistles.

"Ooh…lace handkerchiefs are so rare these days. Thank-you very much." She put it on a shelf and sat down again, moving with her castle and abandoning the birthday-present topic.

"Anyway, Alastor was looking for you yesterday. I think he wants a chat."

Severus did not answer but frowned. That was definitely bad news.

"He asked me today about your whereabouts. I told him that I'm sorry but I really don't know. If I recall well, he thinks fairly ill of you…"

"Everyone thinks ill of me. He's sore because Dumbledore vouched for me, back then. I'm grateful for your help."

"But you can't evade him forever. Soon you have to confront him."

Severus massaged his forehead. Somewhere far away a thunder rumbled.

Severus didn't see Judith since she disappeared that night in September. Wondering fairly, what she is up to, he returned to his chambers. Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder, startling him. He spun around but instead of Moody's disfigured face he was staring into a noble, but deadly-pale face with eyes as black as his own. In fact, these eyes resembling a pair of black holes did not have any whites. Dark brown hair was bushy and unkempt.

"Excuse me?"

"It's me. Judith. It's how would I look like if I wasn't killed."

"I see. Come with me. It wouldn't be good if someone would see you."

They went to his office and Severus poured himself a glass of Absinthe. Again, Judith lightly touched his shoulder, embracing him with cold hands.

"What is this supposed to mean." Asked Severus in an even colder tone.

"Just trying things out. I was murdered far too soon."

Severus frowned, entangled himself out of her grasp and sat down.

"Don't you seek anyone at all? Do you hate everyone so much?"

"It's not that. For all I care, everyone can just lay down and die."

"You are pretty fucked-up."

"Me, everyone, the world is filled with walking copses. But what about you."

"I? Now that I regained an approximate physical form, I can seek revenge. I just wanted to make sure you won't stop me."

"I have no reason to."

"Theoretically I should kill you as well, but I shall spare your life, regarding the fact you brought me to…_life._ One more thing and I'll be out of your hair forever. Does my family still live in the same place?"

"As far as I know yes."

Judith's form melted down and shifted back into a black cat. With a whip of her tail she disappeared into thin air, leaving black footprints on the floor.

An eventful week later, when he was grading some NEWT students written exams, someone knocked on his door. Flicking his wand it opened and revealed a bored-looking house elf wearing a tea towel with Hogwarts crest on it. It was Malice, the former Travers family servant.

"Master Snape, Dumbledore sir is summoning a staff meeting."

"Hm. Thank you."

"Does master Snape wish to attend dinner, or should his meal be brought over to his quarters."

"I'm staying here."

"Is master Snape having any other requests?"

"No."

Malice left, closely followed by Severus, who was the first staff member to arrive. Wishing he had only brought his Absinthe he walked over to the window and gazed out. Dark clouds were chased around the sky by strong wind. It made him feel slightly more comfortable. He disliked the staff-room greatly. It was full of colours and stained windows, with chandeliers brightening up every inch of the place. There was no shadow he could sink into.

Watching the crows circling above the lake, he heard hard clanking of a wooden foot. He opened the window a bit so a breeze blew into his face.

"Aah, there you are. I meant to have a little chat with you. You won't slip out this time, you Slytherin viper."

The said Slytherin viper let the comment unanswered. After all, it didn't require and answer. The crows seemed to be restless today. Not one of them wanted to land.

"Still looking for your master? You must've been so thrilled that night during the Quidditch World Cup. Torturing muggles and their children again, huh?"

"I wasn't there in the first place."

"Oh yes. Yes, of course. No one was there. No Malfoy, no Crabbe, no Goyle, Avery or Nott. And the muggles asked for it, didn't they." Moody growled in his ear, knowing very well how the Slytherin hates people, breaching his personal space.

"If I had my way, you would rot in Azkaban. Dementor's Kiss if far too quick for the one of your kind. …why don't you just drink one of your poisons?"

Severus straightened up and leered in the ex-auror's face. His hand twitched, wishing he could get rid of Moody without any witnesses.

"Ah, did I touch a nerve? Do you want to curse me? Then go ahead." Moody turned his back on him, mockingly referring to the lack of his spine. Severus shut the window, went over to the staff-rooms library, took a random volume and sat behind the table with it, shutting the annoying paranoid out.

The next thing he knew was Minerva sitting down beside him as usual, looking reproachfully at Moody. Before anyone could say anything, Dumbledore entered the room, beaming with a wide smile. He checked if everyone's here, clapped two times and a tray with lemon-cream filled éclairs appeared in front of every person. Severus elbowed his tray aside with a sour expression. Sometimes he had a feeling headmaster is doing this just for the fun of watching people's reactions. Luckily kettles of coffee popped out of nowhere as well. He poured himself a cup and cautiously tasted. It had to contain at least a bag of sugar. Drawing his wand out, he transfigured the cup into a crystal glass of pure water.

"Good one." whispered Minerva.

"My dearest colleagues, how absolutely and utterly heart-warming to see you all in one room again! In eight days on Friday, we shall host our friends from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons! Madame Maxime and professor Karkaroff will stay with us, bringing their most gifted protégés to fill our beloved school with even more laughter, fun and pranks, so I implore you to be especially careful. You know the saying: It's all fun and games until…well, we shouldn't be so pessimistic about it. Actually once I hade the pleasure to make acquaintance to a certain young gentleman, whose left eye has been turned into a corn cob by his younger sister. It wasn't the nicest sight…but back to the subject. In order to make a good impression and win new friends, we have to exert ourselves to be polite, amiable and helpful, even thought, without doubts, there will be moments when we'll wish for peace and quiet." Dumbledore made a pause and glanced cheerfully at Severus, who ostentatiously watched the crows, cleaning their feathers behind the window next to Dumbledore. This was going to be long.

"…and to sum things up, let us not do anything we would regret later. I especially encourage the heads of our houses, professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Snape, to have a talk to their charges about their positive attitude. Thank you for listening to my rather exhausting drabbles. Let us prepare our stomachs for the delicious dinner, awaiting us in half an hour. Severus, can you please stay behind…"

Severus, who was expecting this, nodded. Not having to follow etiquette anymore he stood up and went to the window, opening it again. The stuffy air after an hour-long meeting made him nauseated.

"Do you have any worries considering Karkaroff, Severus?" asked Dumbledore, joining his employee.

"No. He is a coward. He won't do anything in here."

"You should watch him anyway. As our friend professor Moody says, constant vigilance is essential. Have you heard anything from other Death Eaters?"

"No." answered Severus curtly. Mentioning the ex-auror's name didn't really make him feel talkative.

"Please excuse me, headmaster, I've got a potion that requires my attention." Severus voiced his favourite excuse.

"That's all right, that's all right. I've got my favourite excuses as well. See you at the dinner table."

Severus frowned. He didn't like his lies being exposed and like hell will he

dine tonight.

The next couple of days were rather tiring. For once he had to warn the Slytherin students that trespassing the line of proper behaviour would be welcomed with strict punishment. Usually he didn't bother to watch them, but this time it would quickly make him the centre of obnoxious people's attention. There will be his former fellow-Death Eater. As much as he despised Karkaroff, the circumstances are pressing him to do a buddy-buddy act. Stupid ass-brained wanker. If it wasn't for Dumbledore, he would sell him out without a second thought. But there was an apprehension, hanging in the air. First the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup stadium, then coming of Awame, the harbinger, disappearance of Bertha Jorkins and Pettigrew. That slimehead couldn't hide for a week without someone's powerful help.

Severus put his grey nightshirt on and laid down on the bed. It was quarter to four in the morning. He finished his glass of Absinthe and charmed the bottle away. In the morning he tended to be a bit detached and tripping over bottles wasn't his favourite morning exercise. The fireplace, filled with a fresh batch of coal, crackled solemnly and flames danced, reflected in his eyes. He was cold today. Very cold. The tips of his fingers and toes were turning a pale shade of purple, which signalised hypotension. Maybe he should drink more coffee. Or his heart started to give up on him. Nonetheless Severus drew the blankets over his head, thinking.

The Dark Mark had nothing to do with those drunk bozos, he was absolutely certain. As many bottles of firewhisky as they could've drunk, surely something this stupid wouldn't cross their minds. For once, they denied Dark Lord and among them, it was a topic they didn't like to talk about. Being Dark Lord's henchman was a privilege. A honour most superb. In the case of most of them, it was literally the reason they had been conceived. Vanquishing of the master hit everyone hard. And like sheep, they scattered once the shepherd vanished.

Then, even if they weren't caught. All the ministry had to do was execute the Prior Incantato spell on the wands of all the suspects and it would immediately land them in Azkaban for the rest of their sordid lives. Severus didn't believe that anyone could assume Crouch's house elf conjured the Dark Mark. Who could it be? Who would have enough… His thoughts peacefully drifted away as he fell asleep.

He was running through the dungeons. No. It wasn't his dungeons. The ceiling in here was much, much lower and there were some…things pasted on it. He had to cover his face so they wouldn't rip it away. For all he knew, he was running from something. A cacophony of alien noises resounded almost at his heels. Heave breath of large lungs, sticking to the back of his neck. Thumping of feet. A strange shuffling noise, as if the thing was huge enough to fill the corridor from wall to wall. He ran as fastest he could, so fast that the sinews in his legs ached and sharp pain stabbed his side and chest. Suddenly he arrived in a cathedral-like room with large stained windows, no furniture. He sped up to the door on the other side. It was small and there was a chance that if he'd go through, he would escape. His hand, sticky with sweat, grasped the door handle. Locked, shot through his mind. The windows burst apart, showering him with dust, glass and fragments of lead. Instinctively he duck and covered his head and in that moment something furry hit him hard in the side and sent him flying at least five meters. He hit the ground hard, but had no time to stand up. A heavy torso landed on him, black fur blocking his view. Its smell was a repulsive mixture of vomit, dust and rotting butter. A terrible pain overcame him. Dull claws sunk into his abdomen, tearing him apart. Unable to move, with mouth full of that stinking hair, he screamed in agony. His innards were torn out and the last thing he felt was his ribcage being ripped apart, each rib cracking sadistically slow.

And he woke up, entangled in the blankets, soaked in cold sweat. For a second he just lay there, holding his hand in front of the face, straightening and flexing his fingers. It seemed he was still alive. He closed his eyes again. This nightmare completely worn him out and his chest felt even more dead than usually. He couldn't collect his thoughts at all. Luckily there was only a double lesson with Ravenclaws before "welcoming" the guests.

Standing up, on his way to the shower his eyes fell on the untouched plate. The food on it had the appeal of a bucketful of maggots. Shuddering he stepped under the hot stream. Today is going to be a wild day.

The Beauxbatons carriage and Durmstrang ship arrived with the exact opulence that Severs expected, listening to the obnoxious giggling and chatting of schoolgirls, while leaning against the wall. If Karkaroff has at least one brain-cell, he will take a long detour around his former ally.

The Beauxbatons students looked like if one stronger curse could blow them away. Dunderheads. They knew they're going up north and still, pathetic silken robes were all they were wearing. Apart of them, the Durmstrang children seemed to be slightly more foresighted. They had a fierce look, full of pride, which could cost them their lives. Severus could almost predict what they would do, if landing in a duel. But they still had a long way to go.

"Ah, there you are, Severus. Come to say hello to our guests." Dumbledore grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the other two heads. Severus hated when Dumbledore spoke in this manner. Like if he was a shy, six years old child. And there they were. The half-giant in denial and denunciatory sycophant.

"Good morning, headmistress Maxime, headmaster Karkaroff." Severus said in a hollow voice. Seeing how big madam Maxime is, it reminded him on the creature from his dream. The feeling of emptiness expanded.

" 'ello profeseur Snape. Eet iz almost noon, you silly boy." Giggled the headmistress. Dumbledore chuckled with her, while the two other men remained dead-silent.

A loud croaking suddenly interrupted the chatter. An overlarge raven was circling around the castle, a large package in his talons.

"If you excuse me…" said Severus, recognising the bird, and departed without waiting for an answer. It was Pendragon. Severus called his species pseudo-raven. His wingspan was three metres and he was exceptionally intelligent, being able to understand human speech. He also had some very special magic abilities, but Severus didn't use them very much. This species used to be quite common in Britain, Scandinavia and northern part of Germany and Siberia, until wizards killed it off for body parts, which had many uses in potions. Pendragon got somehow stranded in Forbidden Forest ten years ago. Probably breached the line between worlds. Following and unknown hunch, he nursed the fledgling in the dungeons. It was funny – Severus never had any pets, believing himself not to be able to keep anything alive. And still, Pendragon was here, serving as his post-owl.

Leaving the crowd he passed one of the yards, arriving in a cul-de-sac with a great mirror, hanging on the wall. He said the password (_disoriento_) and the mirror changed its shape, turning into a narrow door. Severus turned his back to it and walked to the opposite wall, grabbing the free space. Something creaked and the wall dissolved, leaving a high doorway. He crossed the threshold and found himself in a desolate tiny courtyard, surrounded by high walls from every direction. There was a single tree, growing in the middle. A huge oak. Several leaves were lying on the floor. One of his secret places.

Severus summoned his gauntlet and braced himself for Pendragon's landing. With a being this big, it wasn't the simplest task. Long sharp talons closed around his arm as the bird welcomed him with a deafening croak. With his left hand, Severus unfastened the package and laid it gently on the ground. It seemed to be something made from glass. Another summoning charm sent a bloody rabbit carcass flying from the kitchen. Pendragon lifted off again and grabbed it in midair, disappearing out of sight.

The package contained a large glass jar, more than half a metre long. Severus sat down between the oak's twisted roots and placed the jar against the sun. Faint rays sparkled on the polished glass. The liquid in it was clear and transparent, enveloping a thick, flesh-coloured worm, looking like a piece of stuffed intestine. There was a little paper card attached, saying this specimen has been caught a week ago by one of his long-distance Mongolian co-workers from a disbanded research team, which Severus used to be a member of. The extremely rare Orghoi Khorkhoi, the Death Worm. Now he could start with yet another poison. The Eelbane Draught. It would creep right into the victim's brain and put his or her kinetic centre out of order. If the person was strong enough. If not, then the paralysis spread until it seized the brain as whole and killed the person for good. But in most cases, the victims all wished to be dead – with all limbs unable to move, crippled forever. Or until someone gave them the neuron-repairing antidote, which was so rare, laics believed in to be non-existent.

There was a silent 'poof' and Malice apparated in his laboratory.

"Professor Snape, the dinner is ready."

"Very well…" the hungry man answered.

He was done for today, the potion needed exactly ninety-two hours of brewing with a constant temperature. From now on, he could just sit there and stare at it. So he took off his two-layer lab coat and gloves, the outer layer made from abraxan dwarf-horse wool and inner from good old dragon skin. On top of the small pile of clothes he placed his head-gear, consisting of goggles and breathing mask. If he was to touch or breath the concentrated fumes of this potion, it would cause him serious burns. Luckily the vapours were this powerful only on short distances. If it was out in the free space for more than three, four seconds, it mingled with carbon-oxygen and became completely useless.

The house-elf disapparated in the meanwhile, so he went upstairs alone, turning the collar of his robes up, fastening a mantle with a clip on his shoulder. The lab was hot – underneath his lab-coat he wore only a simple tunic, so the difference between the inside and outside temperature was often abysmal – especially in winter. Sometimes, when he managed to breath in some irritable fumes, he started to cough only when he walked over in the below-zero temperatures of the deep basement.

As he walked out of the dungeons, for a fleeting second he saw a shiny fur of a cat, flashing through the corridor, but it wasn't his problem. He stepped in quite unnoticed – it seemed the dinner started some twenty minutes or so ago. Some of the students were almost done with the mains, casting hungry looks at the desserts. He sat down on his usual place, but for some strange reason Minerva wasn't there. So there was a free space on his left, while his right hand side was occupied by the absent-minded professor Sinistra, who was never in a mood to chat. But on Sinistra's other side, the Durmstrang headmaster threw almost pleading looks at Severus. …Who ignored them more than happily and started with his Beef broth. Finally it started to get to him as he was finishing his venison with wild mushrooms and baked potatoes, so he swallowed the last bite and without even thinking about dessert, walked towards the exit. Karkaroff finished his glass of wine and followed him, trying not to gain any attention from other teachers.

"Severus. Severus, wait! I got to talk to you!"

Annoyed, the potions-master stopped so abruptly, that Karkaroff almost passed him by.

"Igor, if you would like to be…ah…a little bit more obvious, I'm sure Moody would be grateful."

Karkaroff seemed to come to his senses, as the ex-auror's name raised a great dislike in him as well.

"Severus. I know he's coming back. What are we going to do? He'll punish us. I'm sure of it. I'm sure you can feel it too. After holidays-."

"When the Dark Lord rises again, I will do whatever the duty requires."

Karkaroff's eyes widened in disbelief. Apparently he thought Severus would be just as terrified as he was.

"But…but…how can you be so indifferent. Especially you! Remember what did he do to you, when he got that hunch that you were an agent for the Order of Phoenix? The many times he got you in the infirmary? Of all the people-"

Severus cut him short again, this time with a rising anger, which he carefully hid behind his crafted mask of ice.

"We all get what we deserve. You can always run if you don't feel like fighting. There is no solid proof that he is returning anyway. And besides that, he didn't get me in the infirmary. Now go back to your room and have a bottle of wine to calm your nerves. You won't achieve anything; running around like a headless chicken will only bring troubles to both of us."

When he finished, he turned away and stepped on a stairway, which immediately moved up to the fifth floor. He could take a portrait shortcut from there.

What he said about Voldemort, never getting him in the hospital wing, was almost true. In nine cases out of ten one of his potions was all he needed. There was no one he had to show his suffering. Not the Death Eaters, not Dumbledore, nor Mme Pomfrey, not even himself.

As he laid his head down on the pillow, all tiredness escaped from him and he was staring for at least an hour in the ceiling before giving up. He had to have a little walk through the castle, otherwise he wouldn't get any sleep until six. He threw the heavy winter mantle over his shoulders and pulled the hood down.

For some reason he felt a great unrest. Did the news that the Dark Lord was gaining power get to him after all? He stopped at a window. This night was dark indeed. It had to be around two in the morning, when his ears caught some noises. Melting in the shadows, he gazed in the darkness and saw nothing. Soft sounds of footsteps walked right past him without the owners exposing even a centimetre of their pyjama-fabric. He didn't even have to overhear their stifled conversation to know, who it was.

"Oi Ron, you stepped on my foot again."

"No, it was Hermione. I got nowhere near you."

"Come on, boys. Some will hear us. I can't believe I'm here after lights-out. If someone caught us, we'd be in so much trouble…"

"Don't worry, Hermione. No one is here."

"Well, you should've taken the map with you."

"You were rushing me so I forgot. So blame me."

Having nothing better to do anyway, he slipped out of the shadows and followed them from a safe distance, which in their case wasn't all that big. After all no one is easier to track that the one, who thinks he's invisible. The Heroic Trio. God knows in how many troubles they'll get in this year.

They slipped through the door, closing it. If he wanted to get out as well, he'd have to open it and reveal his presence. Luckily his knowledge of the secret entrances and passageways of this school, gained over the many years he spent here, surpassed even the stupid Marauder Map. He touched an ornament on a picture frame and a whole part of the wall lost a great deal of substance. Only the outlines of the stones were visible now, the air in the bear-like hole somewhat heavier than normal.

Soon it became obvious that the Owlery was the students' goal. Few steps away from the tall tower they foolishly slipped out of their Invisibility Cloak. Granger was holding a basket with food, while Potter had a letter. Those heedless children even let the door ajar, so he could walk in without any obstacles. Only Weasley's wand was shining just like his was minutes ago. A great snowy owl glided down from a perch and while they were tying the letter and food to her legs, she cast a scanning look exactly where he was. Damn owl. She was starting to make an uproar – even the children were getting nervous. He cast a non-verbal Disillusionment Charm on himself to avoid detection and crept out of the door. So they were in contact with Black. How…expectable. Just before leaving the Owlery behind, he turned back.

"_Colloportus Arduus_." He chanted a spell, shutting the door tight with many magical locks, shimmering eerily in the dark night. They will get past this one, he was sure, but it will take at least two or three hours. When he crossed the courtyard over to the main building, the faint sound of people, banging on the door, made him smirk.

But alas – even this little prank didn't cure his insomnia. He took an exceedingly difficult book and laid it in front of him, on a great oaken desk. The book was enciphered and he had to make complex charts to translate it. To make things even worse, the code of every page was different. Which, of course, didn't put him off of the translation. On the contrary. At least he had something to do during those long sleepless night. This heavy tome, De Plurimi et Clandestinus Venemum by the name, had a little oddity. Apart of being encrypted, which was pretty common in literature of this kind, that is. Its creator was from Hogwarts and never meant this book to leave the school, because the names of important ingredients were hidden all around the castle, on the picture-frames, statues, even stones themselves or the windows. He had to solve a specific riddle to find the specific location of the word. So for example, it took him two hours to find the word _oleander_, engraved on a window behind several flowerpots with Punching Palms, and on the other hand he was fiddling with that damn encrypted riddle for a good week before sneaking in the Ravenclaw common room at four in the morning, frightening several house-elves in the process and finally writing the words _vanishing aloe_.

But usually it took him some four, five hours to find the proper words. It was… a good form of entertainment. Many of the potions were long forgotten – the book seemed to come from thirteenth century. It would fall apart in the library if it wasn't for his insomnia, which made him to organize all the Advanced Potion books of the restricted section. Mrs. Pince was far too afraid of this section, the tomes had an unpleasant habit of biting and harming the readers. Especially the older ones.

In the morning, he noticed that he wasn't the only one, not getting enough sleep. He looked as usual – sour and sullen, but great dark rings around eyes weren't the usual attire of Miss Granger or Mr. Potter and Weasley. He averted his eyes just as Moody looked at him.

However, since their guests arrived, daily meals turned even noisier and thus shortened his own time for finishing the meal. He ate two toasts before losing his appetite. His foul mood got the better out of him for the next few days.

The next evening his presence was required was deciding of the Champions. He though it would be a dull event until the goblet spew Potters name out as the fourth champion. That drew his attention. That Potter child was too much of a slacker to find a spell strong enough to confuse the goblet. After all, this artefact was hundreds of years old. It has seen at least as many attempts to trick it as it was old. He himself had the questionable luck to meet the Heroic Trio almost every time they made a step out of their dorms when they weren't supposed to and he was walking around the school every night since, his sleep getting lighter and lighter.

So for once he defended Potter. Questionably, of course, but still defended. It took everyone by surprise, not surprisingly, and everyone went to bed. He put it off his mind quite fast, having bigger problems to deal with, but everyone else went gossip-mad. Even some his colleagues never ceased to discuss the Potter – champion Nr. 4 – thing. When he glanced over to the table, he saw him and Ronald Weasley, avoiding each other with almost comical affection. Granger was flying from one to another, trying to reconcile them again. He snorted. They didn't value her at all. Her knowledge was priceless, especially if the Dark Lord awakens, but they were just blind to it – typical children. It's not like he's taken a liking to her. Although he was rather fond of clever students, her noisiness was going on his nerves.

That Friday was just like any other Friday. He finished marking a stash of essays and watching over a Hufflepuff student who was making some pointless copies of old and damaged Potions books, written in Latin. Since all he had to do was to flick his wand and cast the Protean Charm to make an exact copy. After that, ignoring dinner time, he proceeded with his translations. Fourteen hours clean time he's been working on this one, the last ingredient for Transient Brew, a potion, which – when combined with a special spell – allowed one to see the world of lost souls, passing on to their destined goal. Only this last one and he could start brewing it.

Second candle was flickering with its last strength, when he the letters he wrote down, one by one, revealed the location. Gryffindor common room, fireplace floor. Severus sighed – there was a great risk that he could be caught by Moody, who took the protection of this house into his own hands, as it seemed. Oh well, it's not like there is a way to avoid this. It was already twenty-three past two, all the students were probably in their beds, although it was Friday. After all, the fortunate providence made him give the Gryffindor he had lessons with today an extra load of homework. Getting into his long cloak he walked out of his study. He wasn't going to use the Disillusionment Charm until right in front of the secret corridor, leading in the Gryffindor tower. Moody could see through this charm as well, thanks to that disgusting eye of his, and it would be impossible to find a proper excuse for this one.

Late in the night, the usual friendly atmosphere of the school was gone. On the way to the sixth floor, he could hear deep, raspy voices mumbling around him, although the painting-dwellers were snorting faintly, immersed in a deep sleep. Or pretending to be. A smell of something burning lingered in the heavy air. As he reached the secret corridor, he pressed the secret panel and crossed through the wall. In front of him, there was a long but narrow staircase. The ceiling couldn't reach farther than the seventh floor, but as Hogwarts was a freak-building to begin with, it stretched high over his head. Both left and right side were lined by heavy marble pillars, blackened by smoke, age or magic. And there were no windows. Laying his foot on the seventeenth step a loud sound crushed the silence. It was just a chime, announcing half past two, but it scared the hell out of him. For a moment he thought that what he continues to hear is just an echo of that bell, however soon he had to admit that it's some sort queer pulsing, like the beating of a huge heart, and it came from the ceiling. Looking up he was staring right into hundreds of eyes, appearing on the whole surface. They glared at him unblinkingly, a myriad of orbs of various shapes and colours, watching his every movement. From many experiences he knew that it's the displayed fear which lures attacks the most, so he drooped his head down and proceeded to the exit, holding tightly his wand.

He was reaching for the door-handle, when he realized he is still visible. Hastily casting the charm upon himself, as quite as possible he opened the door and climbed down to the ground, shifting the tapestry around him aside. The air was clean – Gryffindor common room dark and rather cold, the last pieces of coal shining like gems in the darkness. A flick of the wand, a non-verbal spell and even they were put out and removed. In this darkness a wand-light too lengthy was bound to attract attention, so he took off his right glove and carefully slid over the fairly warm stones with his fingers. Soon after he stroke against what it seemed like words – right in the corner. He took a piece of parchment out, pressed it against the writing, and run a charcoal over it few times. Making several tiny green flames erupt from his palm, he quickly read what did it say. _17oz litharge._ That was easy enough, for he had a great jar full of liquefied litharge, or massicot with other words. Or lead monoxide.

Hiding the parchment deep in his robes, a set of noise came on him so fast, he had no chance to evade. Something crashed to him and gave off a surprised yelp. luckily his Death Eater reflexes kicked in and he jumped backwards, crouching to the ground behind an armchair.

"Harry. What's the matter?" hissed Granger's voice.

"I…I…I don't know. It's like something hit me."

"Maybe it's just Peeves." Gulped Weasley's voice, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself.

"No. If it was Peeves, we would've already known. Harry. Pull out the Marauder Map so we can see. Maybe someone's hiding here."

Severus cursed in his mind. Damn that Granger girl and her brains. Well, too bad for them. Luckily he always carried an array of useful potions for situations…well – a bit _more_ pressing than this, but this time the situation needed it. Taking a little box out he opened it, reached for a glass marble, divided into two chambers and filled with a transparent and an azure-blue potion. With all his might he threw it on the other side of the common room and shielded his eyes. A great explosion of blindingly-white light erupted. While the bothersome threesome yelled in surprise, he jumped over to the tapestry, climbing back in the secret corridor and shutting it and himself off the Marauder Map.

Saturday. He had to go to the breakfast even though he didn't want to. His absence would raise too many questions – couldn't afford that. Risking a look to the Gryffindor table where the trio just begun with helping themselves to cornflakes and milk, he was surprised to look right in the eyes with Granger. Breaking the contact first wouldn't do, so he scowled. The girl blushed and paid an exaggerated attention to her bowl. Although this wasn't very agreeable, he still noticed with self-satisfaction that her eyes seemed reddish (She sat quite close to the High Table for teachers and staff) like those of a person, who escaped conjunctivitis by the skin of her teeth. Serves her right. When he returned to his store room to check on the quality of litharge, he found the box of boomslang skin and jar containing lacewing flies empty. It did take him some time before going to the storeroom, so although it was difficult to get there so fast with impaired vision, it was not impossible. Unfortunately what he missed as well were any proofs, so for now he chose not to intervene. He'll find out, sooner or later, why did they make the Polyjuice Potion this time and prayed it'd backfire just like then.

For once his mind was too preoccupied to care what he's eating, so when he pulled himself together, he found out his hunger was filled for once. And without an empty stomach, a dull thumping seized his forehead and grew stronger with every minute.

"Severus?" asked Minerva.

"Yes?" normally he'd just glare and not say anything, but Minerva was the closest thing to a friend he had.

"You look pale. Are you feeling alright?" she said with a hushed voice so their colleagues wouldn't overhear her.

"It seems…I have got a little headache. But nothing to write to the Daily Prophet about." He answered with a light tone, trying to calm her curiosity. Sometimes she acted more like a cat than she'd admit.

"Well, a luck you are a Potions professor. You can cure yourself, can't you?"

He nodded. Just like she said, he's a Potions professor. And precisely because of this reason, he won't swallow any of his remedies. He knew all too well how fast can one gain a resistance against painkilling potions, especially when one was prone to headaches just like him. Luckily she didn't comment about his eating habits. He hated it when people brought it up. Marauders and even some of his house-mates made fun of it quite frequently and regrettably Dumbledore made remarks about this annoyingly often.

Returning back to his rooms, he went over to the lab, but as soon as he put a spotlessly clean cauldron on the burner, he knew it would lead to nothing. The pain in his head was too distracting. So he just bottled the Eelbane Brew into identical 100ml phials and locked the room. It was just after ten a.m. when he pulled his nightshirt on and slipped under the duvet. Is insomnia robbed him off sleep to such an extent, he had only some fifteen hours of sleep last week, so his body was so exhausted that, insomnia or not, he fell asleep in the matter of several seconds.

Countless eyes and the heartbeat of an unseen monster was hunting his dreams. He woke up from a coldness, which crept even under his thick covers. Blinking in confusion of half-sleep he found himself face-to-face with a brown-haired black-eyed girl.

"Can you explain to me, why the hell are you in here, Miss Judith?"

"Just came over. Could feel your nightmares right in the Hufflepuff tower. Man, you look like shite."

"May I ask you to watch your language, Miss Judith? Putting that aside, I'm afraid I have to ask you to expeditiously leave my chambers. It is rather _impudent_ for a young girl to be here."

"I'm not a young girl anymore."

"I beg to differ. However - regrettably - I'm not in mood for any arguments."  
Judith waved her hand in resignation.

"Okay, okay. As you wish. But if I were you, I'd pay attention to the aftermaths of my actions." She said, changed into her cat-like self and soundlessly disappeared from his chambers.

He really didn't feel like quarrelling. Pressing the back of his hand to the forehead, he found out why did he feel so cold. Evidently he had a fever. Most probably from the physical exhaustion. If he ever cared about his well-being, he could've known something like this would happen. A forty-eight-hour virus such as this didn't even require a special potion, but just to be sure this wouldn't evolve into anything further, he heated up a tiny cauldron with Febrifuge Potion, drank a cupful and laid back on the bed. He dreamt of three vividly yellow lines, shining through a total blackness. Their light hurt his eyes, he could feel those lines pressing painfully against his forehead. A nasty smell of puss and blood started to fill the vast space he was in. There was a sound like a distant fluttering of wings.


End file.
